The Rohan Pride Trilogy
Part Two: Reunions
Book One
By: WhiteLadyOfTroy
Summary:
Gúthwyn's mission has failed. Now that she is traveling with Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli to find the Hobbits, she finds herself being confronted with her past, as well as some painful experiences in the present.
About the Trilogy:
I have decided to do what Tolkien did with his books. The Fellowship of the Ring had two books within the text, as did The Two Towers and The Return of the King. The only change I have made is the first part in my trilogy: Alone. That was divided into three books, the first book explaining how Gúthwyn got to where The Fellowship of the Ring started. Reunions will be divided into two books.
About Chapter Twelve:
As always, I will be using a blend of both movie and book canon. Sorry for any confusion. Please correct me on anything that seems amiss, out-of-character, or non-canon. Just an advance warning: Lately, my chapters have been bouncing back and forth between extremely long or rather short.
Chapter Twelve
"Release her!" Théoden ordered at once, his voice shaking and barely able to be heard above the chaos. Gúthwyn found herself being pulled to her feet, simultaneously enveloped in a tight embrace. Her uncle was whispering her name, over and over again; she could not believe he had the nerve to pretend to be so relieved.
Her hands shot out and pushed him away from her. As they separated, his shocked face only served to make her angrier. "Did you not listen to a word I just said?" she hissed, backing up.
A silence fell upon the hall. Everyone was staring at her; Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli all looked as dumbstruck as they had when Haldor had revealed her mission. Only Aragorn appeared to have half suspected it.
"Gúthwyn, I…" Théoden trailed off, at a loss for words. Behind him, she saw Éowyn press a hand over her mouth.
"No," Gúthwyn whispered, and to her horror felt the tears returning to her eyes. "Why did you abandon me?" She trembled as she spoke. "Why did no one try to find me? I thought someone…" Her lips were moving soundlessly; she could not finish the sentence. Legolas was watching her pityingly.
"He felled our horses," Théoden replied quietly, "just a few minutes after he shot you. We could not leave—by the time the search parties found us, it was near midnight."
"Then what about the next day?" she demanded, folding her arms across her stomach. "We saw no one the entire journey!"
Théoden's shoulders slumped. "Now, more than ever, I rue the day I started listening to Gríma Wormtongue," he said tiredly. Guilt was written across his entire face, as well as anger. "When we returned, he was there, and immediately cautioned against sending out the men. He said that if the hunter found out who you were, he might torture or kill you."
"That is a foolish excuse," she snapped, stung that this was the best her uncle was able to come up with. "Anyone could see through that."
"In our grief, it seemed enough to us," he replied wearily.
"You believed him?" Gúthwyn took a step back and gaped at him in repulsion and disbelief.
Théoden nodded miserably, and she felt a surge of rage engulfing her. "You lie!" she cried, glaring at him. "You mean to say that you never cared for me, and left me to the mercy of that hunter!"
She did not even know why her uncle would abruptly decide that she was not worthy of his affection, but how many times had Haldor told her that Théoden no longer loved her? He spoke the truth: No one would let their niece be taken away without attempting to get her back. The king had done nothing.
Gúthwyn's fists clenched, and she was about to leave—where she would go, she knew not—when the guard whose jaw she had fractured suddenly sank to his knees before her.
Baffled, she stared at him, and he removed his helmet. "That is the second time you have broken part of this face, my lady, but I shall say naught of it."
For a moment, she could hardly believe her eyes. "Tun?" she gasped. Her childhood friend of old was gazing up at her; his familiar face, with the nose slightly crooked, was framed by golden hair that was longer than when she had last seen it, and he had grown taller and more muscular, but it was undoubtedly him.
He looked pleased that she remembered him, and nodded. "Indeed, it is I," he replied. "It has been years since my heart felt this glad—nearly eight, to be precise."
Gúthwyn flushed, not knowing what to say. She still did not believe Théoden's story, but a small, hopeful part of her was beginning to rise, aided by the appearance of Tun. The king had always cherished her as his own daughter, and it was difficult to imagine him turning his back on her when she was in need.
But he did, she reminded herself, and glanced back at Tun.
"Gúthwyn," he said, withdrawing his sword from its sheathe and holding it in both hands. She blinked, wondering what he was doing. "I swear my service to you, as your champion if you will it, in living or dying, health or illness, peace or war, until death take me or you should send me away. Yet only if you wish to have it. Do you accept my offer, or reject it? My limbs know all too well that you have no need of protection, but I will eagerly defend you—with my life, if needs be. What say you?"
Gúthwyn could barely speak. She was not sure what to do; doubt assailed her, driving at the chinks in the walls she had built around her mind. Tun's offer was genuine… was it impossible that Théoden's explanation had been as well? Her body trembled in confusion, and wildly she looked around her for a solution. Éowyn was watching her, looking hopeful and at the same time worried; Théoden stood rigid, every limb in his body taut with suspense; Aragorn and Gimli were observing the scene intently, the Ranger's pipe forgotten on the table beside him; then her eyes fell on Legolas.
He was the only one who had not moved when she had lost control of her emotions. Everything about his posture said that nothing could have been of less importance to him, but she saw the expression on his face and knew that he was just as focused on the situation as the others. There was pity, and sadness as well as surprise. Only for a few seconds did their eyes meet, but in that time she made her choice.
"I accept," she told Tun, facing him once more and speaking her words clearly, so that all throughout the throne room could hear her.
As Tun rose to his feet and sheathed his sword, a storm of wild cheering and exuberance nearly lifted the roof of Meduseld. Théoden stepped forward and embraced her tightly; after a brief hesitation, she carefully returned the gesture.
"I can hardly believe that you are here," Théoden murmured, his speech obstructed by sobs that were shaking his chest. Gúthwyn realized with a start that her uncle was crying—crying. "It seems almost too good to be true. Gúthwyn…"
She let him hug her, not wishing to deny him so small a thing, but when he pulled away from her she could not help but feel relieved. Tears were shining on his cheeks. "A great darkness has been lifted from me," he said. He spoke not just for himself, but also for the people: She was finding herself surrounded by a mass of broad grins, all of which she recognized from the days of her youth.
Yet she remained silent, for Théoden had moved aside, and Éowyn was standing before her. For a long time, the two sisters simply looked at each other.
"I thought you were dead!" Gúthwyn finally choked out, and all but flung herself at Éowyn. She felt strong arms wrap themselves around her; it was then that she almost started sobbing.
"And it was I who believed you had perished," Éowyn whispered. To her amazement, Gúthwyn noticed that her sister, like Théoden, was crying. Her tears were silent, but there all the same.
After over seven years, Gúthwyn had been reunited with her family, and with her people.
It was nearly midnight, though Gúthwyn knew she would not be going to bed anytime soon. Meduseld was relatively quiet; all of the guards had retired until the next day, with the exception of two night sentinels that stood outside the doors. She was now sitting at one of the tables, with her uncle and sister on either side of her. Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli were on the opposite end. Gandalf had come back to the Golden Hall recently, and was leaning against a pillar, seemingly having no interest in the conversation.
"I still do not know how this… this miracle is possible," Théoden was saying, and she turned to him. His face was bewildered, and he kept running his fingers through his hair. "How did you… Gúthwyn, what happened?"
She stiffened. This was what she had been afraid of—no matter how he felt now, once her uncle had heard of all she had done, he would be disgusted with her.
Her thoughts were interrupted by Aragorn standing up. "We should leave," he said, gesturing to Legolas and Gimli. "I would not wish to intrude on your privacy."
The three of them were about to leave when Gúthwyn suddenly exclaimed, "Wait!"
For a moment, everyone looked at her, and she took a deep breath before continuing. "Y-You deserve to hear this… especially Legolas."
The Elf glanced at her, and she shivered under his gaze, but was equally aware that she owed him at least some explanation for her behavior. As he, Aragorn, and Gimli sat back down, she inhaled and exhaled deeply. She would not tell the entire story—only Éowyn would she trust enough to do that. But there were some things they needed to know…
Éowyn took her hand and squeezed it, giving her the strength to begin. "For almost a week," Gúthwyn said, speaking to the table, "the hunter brought me across the plains. He healed my wound, but kept giving me something that made me disoriented; I could not see anything around me for hours at a time."
"Did he harm you?" Théoden asked, anger underlying his words. Gúthwyn looked at him and frowned, trying to remember.
"He had a knife… He cut me whenever I disobeyed him."
She could see Théoden's fists tightening as she continued, her face now flushing in shame. "For almost the entire journey, he tied me to his horse, and made me run after him."
Briefly, she glanced at Aragorn, but she could not long endure the pity in his eyes.
"And he took you to Isengard?" Théoden asked, his breathing uneven.
Gúthwyn nodded. "Life there was not so bad," she replied, comparing it in her mind to the Black Land. "I was with a group of other slaves, all of whom were kind to me. We were given tasks such as forging armor—"
"Armor?" Aragorn and Théoden echoed simultaneously, their faces troubled. "Did you ever see his army?" Théoden added.
"No," Gúthwyn answered, shaking his head. "I think the armor was for the Uruk-hai, who started appearing the year that I left."
Éowyn's worried eyes met hers, and she had another thought. "I met Gríma Wormtongue there," she said, looking at Théoden to see his reaction. He tensed, and Éowyn's expression was suddenly murderous.
As Gúthwyn's mind quickly reviewed her meeting with the Serpent, she realized that she would have to tell what he had done to her—what he had almost done to her. Unconsciously, she trembled before speaking. "I was cleaning Saruman's office," she began, now recalling the tomb-like silence that hung over the entire place, and cringing. "He came up behind me…" She wrapped her arms around herself, remembering his pale eyes, and how he had touched her shoulder. "He asked me my name, and I told him. He figured out that I was from Rohan, and insulted its people."
"As he always did," Éowyn snarled, the vicious look in her eyes startling. Gúthwyn blinked, and made a note to question her sister about her hatred later. Unbidden, the dream she had had with Éowyn and Gríma rose to the surface of her mind.
"What happened then?" Théoden asked quietly.
"I punched him," Gúthwyn replied, "and broke his nose."
Her uncle started. "Not long after he entered my service, he took to carrying a handkerchief with him at all times. His nose constantly bothered him."
A brief sense of pride stirred within her, but then disappeared as she prepared to tell the rest of the story. "He grabbed me," she whispered, shuddering at the memory of his hands roaming over her body. "He grabbed me and… and tried…"
Théoden was more furious than she had ever seen him in her life. "Did he do anything?" he demanded urgently, a fire in his eyes that made her wince. Glancing over at Legolas, she saw that the Elf was watching her intently; a fresh wave of embarrassment swept over her. To tell her uncle of what Gríma had almost done to her was bad enough, but it was a thousand times worse with Legolas there.
Hastily, she shook her head. "No," she replied, and Théoden let out a breath that he had been holding. "A friend of mine came in at that moment—he knew what was happening, and said that Saruman was coming. Gríma got scared off, and left the room."
Words could not describe her gratitude to Cobryn, her good friend for so many years. She wondered if he was still alive, and sent a quick prayer to the Valar for his safety.
"Why were you sent to Mordor?" Théoden wanted to know then.
It took her nearly a minute to collect herself. "When I was fifteen," she said, her voice low so that Gimli had to lean in to hear it, "there was an outbreak of Wargs in the stables."
"Wargs?" Aragorn looked at her keenly. "Saruman has Wargs?"
She nodded, almost gagging as she smelt their flesh once more, and saw their beady eyes staring at her from the darkness. Her breathing grew shallow and rapid; she found herself unable to speak for terror.
"Gúthwyn." Éowyn's gentle voice sounded as though it were from miles away. Her shoulders were shaken, and when she blinked she saw that she was in Meduseld, not in the cage.
"S-Sorry," she muttered, berating herself for her weakness, and turning red when she saw Legolas' eyes still upon her. She struggled to continue. "All of the overseers left me and the two other slaves to die in the stampede. There were only fifteen of the creatures loose, but they were many times bigger than us. We took the Orcs' weapons and fought against them. At one point I was overwhelmed, and a Warg pinned me to the ground. It nearly bit my cheek off."
Aragorn started, and she nodded at him. "There is the answer to that riddle," she told him grimly. Then she spoke again. "One of the slaves became trapped under a Warg's corpse. I could not free him, so I went to find my friend."
Here she paused, repressing the tears that threatened to surface once more. "She… A Warg..."
Think! she screamed at herself. Think!
Taking a deep breath, she said, "A Warg knocked her over. I was too far away… They ate her. Her name was Chalibeth."
As soon as she uttered those words, Gúthwyn almost vomited. Her stomach was turning over violently, and she pressed a quivering hand over it. For a full minute, no one said anything as she attempted to regain control of herself. She hated this weakness; even with Borogor, who had seen her at her worst, she was loath to display it.
Eventually, she quelled her tossing stomach, and looked up. "I killed the rest of the Wargs," she said, her voice hoarse. "Saruman came in then and I told him that I had slaughtered all of the animals, so that he did not punish the other slave. He put me in the cage."
Éowyn's hold on her tightened considerably. "The cage?" she repeated, a wary look in her eyes. Gúthwyn noticed that Aragorn glanced at her sister keenly before returning his attentions to her.
Gúthwyn sighed. "In the stables," she began, desperately trying to still her shivering body, "there is one large cage, so dark that none of the slaves can see if there are any Wargs in it or not. When Saruman's servant brought me in there, I could see nothing. He shoved me into something small, and left me there. It was another cage."
Her voice shook, and she could actually feel the bile rising up in her throat before she forced it back down. Éowyn was staring at her, horror-struck; Legolas' features had hardened. Gúthwyn was unable to look at either of them as she continued. "When the servant came back, he lit a torch so that I could see what was around me. There were too many corpses to count—mostly women and children. And then…"
Her heart froze. Memories of the cage were flooding her, swarming in relentlessly: The girl, with maggots in her eyes; the Warg's gaze, never swerving, always watching her; the hunger, and thirst, and exhaustion; the voices, returning to her in the quiet of the night, whispering the same things over and over again…
"Gúthwyn!"
She whimpered as someone shook her shoulders. It was Théoden. "Gúthwyn, look at me!" he exclaimed, his blue eyes frantically searching her own for a response. She realized that she was pale and sweating.
"I-I am fine," she whispered, wanting him to take his hands off of her. After a few seconds, he did, but he had drawn nearer.
Her gaze turned to Legolas. "This is why," she said, "I was so terrified in Moria, why I hardly got any sleep there."
He looked surprised that she had spoken so directly to him. On any other occasion, she would have shied from or snapped at him. "How long did he leave you in there?" the Elf asked quietly, his eyes never leaving hers.
"Almost three days." Gúthwyn's voice was so low that everyone had to lean in closer to hear her. Gandalf, who up until now had been lingering unnoticed in a corner, shifted very slightly.
She looked at him, but he did not say anything, and so she continued, struggling to finish the rest of her story. "I do not remember anything from the last night until I woke up in my bed. The man that saved me from Gríma had taken me out of the cages and brought me back. He stayed with me while I recovered, for the Uruks had taken sport with him, and he could barely walk."
"Why did they beat him?" Aragorn wanted to know.
Gúthwyn sighed. "Because he stopped Saruman's servant from whipping me when I got out of the cage."
"Who was Saruman's servant?" Gandalf questioned her then, his eyebrows raised.
"A Warg-rider named Sharkû," Gúthwyn answered. "He was—is—their leader." Heaving another sigh, she pressed forward. "Later, two Uruks brought me before Saruman. He told me that he was sending me to Mordor. I found out later that I was an experiment, to see if it would profit the Dark Lord to have women in his army."
Éowyn's jaw clenched at the prospect. "What did he decide?"
"I am getting there," Gúthwyn said wearily. "It was my sixteenth birthday when Saruman told me I was leaving. The next day, I set out from Isengard with an escort of several Uruks. I ran with them over the lands—sometimes they carried me, but more often than not I was on foot."
"Did they harm you?" Théoden asked, his hands curling into fists.
"A few lashes of the whip, if I did not want the food or if they felt like it," Gúthwyn shrugged, privately thinking that she would have rather had five hundred such beatings than a night with Haldor.
Then she paused, debating whether or not to say anything about the children. They were almost certainly dead, and she did not want to lose control of herself again. She had not even arrived at Mordor, yet already she had displayed embarrassing signs of weakness to the others.
However, it would be next to impossible to finish the tale without mentioning them. Nearly all of her decisions had been based on their welfare; she would not even be alive today, if it were not for them. And Borogor.
Steeling herself to forget his touch, she said, "At the end of the second week, the Uruks captured a family. They were from the East Emnet."
Éowyn straightened. "Éomer brought us news of their disappearance, uncle, do you remember?" she asked. "They were coming back from a visit to Gondor, but were never seen in Rohan again."
Théoden shook his head. "I do not remember," he replied, "but much of the past seven years I have forgotten, or I have seen as a blurry fog."
For a few seconds, there was silence. Then Gúthwyn took up the story again. She told them of the merciless slayings of the parents, of how she had saved the children from death; she told them of the rest of the journey, the Enemy's servant branding her—Théoden and Éowyn both winced, when she showed them the mark—and their arrival at Udûn. It was then that she found it more difficult to speak.
"I met Haldor that day," she said, and when she looked up at Legolas, his eyes had widened slightly.
"Who was he?" Théoden questioned, not noticing the glance his niece had exchanged with the prince of Mirkwood.
Gúthwyn shuddered. "An Elf," she answered, "brought long ago to Mordor. He was the commanding officer of the human army—that was where I was put. At first, I thought he was the most wonderful being in all of Middle-earth." Her eyes flashed as she remembered how foolish and naïve she had been. "It did not take me long to find out otherwise."
She fell silent. Telling them what he had done to her was not an option. That piece of her past she would keep secret, maybe even from Éowyn. The only person who knew of all her humiliation at the Elf's hands was Borogor, and a large part of her wanted it to stay that way.
Her breathing, nevertheless, was growing uneven as Éowyn asked softly, "What did he do?"
"He was horrible," Gúthwyn whispered, staring fixedly at the table. "If you disobeyed him, he would have the person closest to you killed." Her voice shook, and she felt tears coming to her face as she thought of poor Beregil. "H-He made my b-best friend murder his own brother…"
She put her face in her hands, and could not stop her shoulders from heaving up and down. Before her eyes, she saw Borogor hurling the spear at Beregil, time slowing painfully down just before the tip of it embedded itself in the young man's heart. She saw Haldor's triumphant gaze bearing down upon her, Borogor sinking to his knees in despair, the fury in his eyes as he slapped her.
A light hand was placed on her back. "Why?" Éowyn's gentle voice met her ears, making her want to cry even more.
"Because he refused to torture me!" The sentence came out in a tumbled rush, though as her sister's hand stiffened she knew that everyone had heard her. "He did not know! He thought he was being noble! But Haldor had him killed!"
The words were falling from her lips in stutters and gasps; every second of that day was seared onto her mind, never to leave. Borogor had lost Beregil, and less than a year later she had lost him. She almost started sobbing then and there—Legolas' presence was one of the only two things preventing her. The other was the memory of Haldor, his body pressed on top of hers, hitting her again and again until the tears stopped. "You do not cry!" he hissed at her, pure rage filling his eyes. "If I ever see you crying, or hear of you crying, I will take one of those children!"
Gúthwyn's eyes were dry when she looked up. Legolas was watching her intently, pity lining his features. She wanted none of it.
"Did he ever do anything to you?" Théoden asked, leaning closer to her. Gúthwyn saw Legolas' eyes narrow in concentration.
"None of the men touched me," she replied, dodging the question and lying at the same time. She firmly pushed Burzum's foot and Lumren's wandering hands out of her mind. But when she glanced back at Legolas, she knew her ruse had not been lost on him. Neither had Aragorn failed to notice that she had not truly answered Théoden's inquiry. Ignoring their looks, she continued. "On my first day, I also met…"
She could not say his name. Not now, not in front of Legolas. "I met Haldor's second-in-command," she finished shakily. "He told the soldiers that if any of them harmed me, he would kill them. He… He…"
Protected me was what she should have said. Loved me was what she wanted to say. But she suddenly found herself trembling and unable to speak; once more, she buried her face in her hands, keeping the others from seeing the tears that had sprung up in fresh renewal.
"What is his name?" Legolas' quiet voice penetrated her misery, and she cringed, frantically shaking her head.
"H-He was my b-best fr-friend…" Gúthwyn was dangerously close to losing control of herself and breaking down in tears. Why had she not realized that they both loved each other? How had she been so foolish, so stupid? Why had the Valar and Faramir so cruelly taken him away from her, when he had done nothing to deserve death? And how had she made love to Haldor, with Borogor's body hardly cold?
From a great distance, Éowyn asked, "What happened to him?"
"He-he-he died!" Gúthwyn choked. Silence hung in the air as she pressed her hand over her mouth, loathing herself for being so weak, but unable to conceal her emotions. Her entire body was shaking as Éowyn wrapped her arms around her. She leaned into her sister's embrace, still not crying, but closer to doing so than she had ever been since that second morning with Haldor.
Borogor, she called silently, as Éowyn held her tighter, Borogor, why did you have to go?